


To see me through the darkness.

by Lestradesexwife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Rivalry, minotaur!sherlock, theseus!john, widow!mrs.hudson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only Theseus and the Minotaur really know what happened in the labyrinth. But it is unlikely to have been this.</p>
<p>Written for the fairy-tale challenge of Let's Write Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To see me through the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Much is owed as always to everyone in Antidiogenes. Gins and Roane for talking me down from a bad place, and Evith for making sure it all made sense. 
> 
> There is non-consensual sexual activity between two men in this story. Please do not read if you are in anyway triggered by those things.
> 
> I took a couple liberties with the story. I don't mention Ariadne, mostly because I didn't want to turn her into Molly... Also Theseus is a dick to her.

The darkness is heavy, thick and humid. It should be cool this far underground, the floor has been sloping downward long enough that he knows he is deep beneath the palace. He’s almost out of string, soon he will have to turn back and try another path. Not that they will open the heavy gate for him. Not unless he is carrying the bloody head of the Minotaur tucked under his arm.

****

He needs to find the Minotaur and dispatch it before dawn, otherwise King Mycroft will seal the entrance for good and all. John had seen the bricks when he was unceremoniously ushered into the labyrinth. Each one needing four strong slaves to lift and was as large as the cot he had been allowed to rest on during his incarceration. “Which would be easier if I could find the beast.” He’s long since given up on stealth. After all, he does want to be found. He’s got one chance at this.  

****

“Aren’t you meant to be a blood-thirsty monster? C’mon then I’m right here, when was the last time you ate? You must be hungry.”

****

John sighs as the string in his fingers unravels and he is left clutching the frayed end. He turns, facing back the way that he had come. The thought, _I can just sit down. Wait for it to find me._ flits into his awareness.  He hasn’t anticipated this, the long drawn out waiting for something to happen, yet he can’t bring himself to give up. If he is moving there is a hope of finding the beast. If he finds the beast he has a hope of slaying it. If it is killed he can hope to find his way back out of the maze before dawn. If he sits down to wait until the monster finds him it could be days, and all hope of leaving the tunnels will be lost.

****

He wonders if he would hear the sound of the bricks being laid. His feet ache in his sandals, but that is no indication of how far he has actually travelled from the gate. He is beginning to suspect the labyrinth is substantially smaller than the King has lead him to believe. The passages are narrow and twisting, and seem to tend mostly downward, but they could be travelling in a tight interlocking spirals and John would have a hard time discerning direction. So far he has not crossed his string. But he has avoided turning corners whenever he has been given the choice, attempting to cross the full length of the labyrinth. Sadly the string is not equal to the task, the tunnel continues on ahead of him and he is leaving whole swathes of tunnel unexplored. John feels a surge of panic at the thought that he might be passing within touching distance of his goal and never know.

****

The fear of losing his way overcomes any curiosity he might feel for what lies beyond his reach. Retracing his steps and curling the string back into a neat ball is a bitter defeat. He walks, concentrates on keeping tension in the string and winding it slowly around itself until he realizes that his path is still tending downwards.

****

His breath catches and his heart pounds, but his hands are steady. “Well, that’s clever. Are you a spider? Wrapping me in silk to save for later?” The knowledge that there is a monster at the end of the string ought to be terrifying, instead he is merely intrigued that the beast has seen fit to toy with him. And in such a clever way. If it had wanted John to be trapped all it needed to do was sever the string. He’s being led somewhere, somewhere to the beast’s benefit.

****

His skin prickles: he is dead. The moment he entered the maze he died, now it is merely down to him to decide the manner of his death.  “Should I make you come to me?” There’s no advantage for him; if he follows the string to its end he will be on ground chosen by the beast. If he remains here and waits... he will still be on ground chosen by the beast. Either choice leaves him lost and the door is bricked up at dawn. He takes a step forward, better to slay the beast and perhaps be mortally wounded in doing so than the slow waste of starvation that will come if he turns back. His foot brushes against something on the floor, the first obstruction he’s encountered. It rolls slightly, a hollow flinty sound against the stone floor. The skull, when he lifts it, is old, dry and free of any of the more mortal remnants.

****

“Yes, I’d figured that bit out already, thanks.”

****

It feels wrong to set the skull back on the floor. But he needs his hands free for the string and his sword. He sets it down on its jaw, close to the wall so that it will not be damaged.

****

The string feels longer winding inwards than it did going out. Perhaps because he knows what awaits him at the end, but when his fingers run over a join in the thread he knows that he is actually travelling a greater distance. He travels downwards, ever deeper, and without turning for some time when his eyes register a change in the darkness.

****

The end of the string is tied to a plain wooden door, recessed into a small alcove with a small lantern, rather anti-climatic when John had been expecting a slavering beast crouched and ready to do battle. The tunnel continues downwards, a black gaping hole beyond the circle of light.

****

John pauses, this door could be one of many in the palace above him. Simple, lacking any reinforcements that would call to mind a dungeon. The lantern is almost welcoming. He lifts his sheathed sword and uses the hilt to unhook the lantern from its base, setting it in the centre of the floor before reversing his grip on the sword and blowing out the light. The door opens towards him, which is inconvenient for his purposes, but the hinges are well oiled and it whispers in the darkness as he draws it open.

****

The room is... homey, scatterings of parchment over tables, a disarray of cushions and rugs on the floor near the hearth, a couch draped in the skin of a lion. The rooms windows face out over the sea, wine dark with a hint of colour at the horizon. John’s stomach drops, the first stain of dawn has sealed his fate.

****

“I can smell the bronze on you... discard it or I shall have to take offense.” The voice is a low deep rumble that triggers something deep in John’s soul. He has faced death many times, and never been struck by such a fear. John has seen frescos, meant to scare the scarifices before they enter the maze, the beast is meant to be half man half bull. The creature before him resembles more man than beast. The monster’s horns curl to sharp points, rising from a sea of jet black curls, his features call more to mind a raptor, one of John’s favourite hunting birds, than a beast of the field. The creature’s eyes raise the hairs on the back of John’s neck, sharp and pale, nearly white even in the weak light of dawn and the few lanterns spread through the room, his eyes are cold and clear and full of malice.  They body of the beast is partly obscured by the body of an old woman, his long fingers curved cruelly into the skin of her neck. John’s sword is in his hand, and he could probably cross the room in time, could probably run through the monster without causing harm to the woman. But he knows the quickness of death, and can see the fear in her eyes.

****

“What guarantee do I have that you will leave her unharmed if I release my sword?” John has yet to enter the room, he’s obscured in the darkness of the tunnel, and this advantage makes him brave.

****

The monster lifts, nearly gentle, and the old woman whimpers as her toes leave the ground. John takes two steps into the room, his hands held out and the sword dangling useless from his fingers before he has even decided how to proceed.

****

“You will find manacles on the table to your left. Place the sword on the table and chain your hands.”

****

The sword makes a dull heavy sound when it falls to the table, the hilt gouging into the wood. The manacles are heavy rings of bronze, with a bar to hold them together. The first ring slides easily over the bar, his breath catches in his throat, the certainty of his death sliding home with the bolt of the shackles. His hands are steady, but the catch on the second rung cannot be closed from inside the shackles.

****

The huff isn’t angry, merely bored and disinterested. “Assist him, widow.” The sound  of her bare feet catching on the stone floor is a relief to John. She stumbles once as she is released, but regains her footing quickly. John has seen many women of her type, wizened, seemingly frail and yet capable of feats of strength and endurance better suited to athletes in the gymnasium.

****

The widow’s fingers are dry and soft against his skin, but unforgiving as they close the pin to hold the shackles in place. She lifts the sword from the table and clacks her tongue at him. “Look at what you have done to my table.” She turns and presents the sword to the monster, in the manner of an offering, but he waves it off. The touch of the monster’s fingers against the widow’s throat is gentle this time, almost an apology. She brushes her fingers against his cheek and through the hair at the base of his horns, accepting his touch and returning it in kind.

****

“Was she ever in danger?” John wishes that he had the strength of Heracles to bend the shackles, perhaps to wrap them around the throat of the monster.

****

“Quite possibly. Too much depended on the fickle morality of an Athenian hero.” The monster’s sharp blue eyes rake over John. “Just back from another war, Persia or Sparta? You’ve a sister at home who doesn’t put enough water in her wine. She’s a scandal, and you are here to redeem your family honour. Or die in the attempt. I’m told that the traditional approach to grovelling for one’s life is on your knees.”

****

John sways as the first curve of the sun appears over the horizon, turning the world to blood and fire. “There is nothing to beg for. King Mycroft will brick in the gate with the rising of the sun. We are both doomed.”

****

John can’t help but watch the lazy flick of the monster’s hand, the thick nails on his fingers are filed sharp, and in the quiet of the room he thinks he can hear them slicing through the air. “Mycroft always did have a flair for the dramatic. He’s still upset that I was our Mother’s favourite.” The widow takes her leave, closing the door to the tunnel quietly behind her. The monster rolls his neck and comes to stand close to John, he leans in and whispers in John’s ear. “Do you truly imagine that I could be kept here... or that there is only one way into the maze?” The creature’s voice is pure decadence and sin in John’s ear.

****

“If you can leave as you wish, why are you here?” Bravery, or foolishness, if he is to die he will speak his mind.

****

“Humans are so tedious. Occasionally delicious,” The monster licks his lips at that and John feels the brush of tongue along his ear, “but ultimately incapable of presenting a challenge. Daedalus left many of his projects unfinished. The widow ensures my needs are met, secrets the more innocent of Mycroft’s victims back into the light of day. She leaves the murderers and thieves for me.” Again the slide of tongue over skin. John tries and fails not to shiver at the touch.

****

“But you, you he sent to kill me. So what shall I do with you?” The beast takes a step back and regards him, the crystal blue of his eyes sends a shiver through John.

****

John closes his eyes, shutting out the growing light of day. “Wait, Mother... King Mycroft is your brother?”

****

“Half-brother... Mycroft’s father always resented me...” John’s eyes snap open in time to catch the cruel twist of the monster’s mouth. His hands spread to indicate the room. “Until he realized I was an efficient means of disposing of his enemies.”  

****

John evaluates, finds himself firmly in the category of King Mycroft’s enemies and drops to his knees. “A quick, clean death.” He tries to phrase it as a demand but it escapes his lips as a plea. His head drops to his chest and he contemplates his chains.

****

The touch of the beast is not gentle, sharp points of fire as his nails gouge into John’s cheek, wrenching his head up so that John must look into his eyes. “Why should I grant you that?”

****

“I have already called out to the gods to spare me from death. I do not wish to suffer that again.” John closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the closeness of the beast and the futility of his request. The image of the beast, clothed only in a loincloth and an open loose robe, is burned onto his eyelids and provides him no respite. He shakes himself mentally, the creature in front of him is almost entirely a man, but for the horns on his head, and his appetites.

****

“Perhaps I would enjoy hearing you cry out for your mother and your gods.” His fingers tighten, forcing a gasp of pain from John’s lips. John screws his eyes shut, bile rising as the memory of shouts and screams on the battlefield, and after the sound of his own voice, cracked and strained pleading the gods to spare him, or to let him die quickly, overlaid with the rumbling laughter of the beast. “A swift death then, why not the mercy of the widow and the promise of living another day under the sun?”

****

“I was sent to kill you, as you said... the widow’s mercy is for innocents.”

****

“Very well.” The beast scrapes his thumb over John’s bottom lip. “The things Mycroft sends me are so very dull, it has been... Perhaps I shall take my pleasure from you, in exchange for your quick death.”

****

“What guarantee do I have that you will honour your word?” John keeps his eyes closed, though it doesn’t keep the tremor from his voice.

****

“None at all, I may very well use you and decide to hear you scream. On the other hand, you haven’t many options. The widow’s mercy is far more easily gained than mine, but you are no innocent.” The tip of the monster’s thumb presses between his lips, and John allows it curling his lip over his teeth even as the wicked point of the monster’s claw catches his lip and draws a drop of blood to the surface.

****

He tastes the copper of his blood over the salt of the beast’s skin. The beast’s skin tastes no different from his own, no darker, the whorls and calluses are the same as his, the nail so sharp against his skin is no thicker than his own. It is the hand of a cruel man, but a man nonetheless. He opens his eyes as the thumb is withdrawn, looks up at the beast in front of him. John’s heart jumps and leaps: part fear, part hope. “What would you have me do?”

****

“I will have my pleasure from you... If you seek to injure me, it will not go well for you.” His thumb catches again on John’s lip, pulls his mouth open. “My pleasure for a quick end to your life.”

****

John doesn’t drop his gaze or fight against the pull on his jaw, he inhales through his nose and remains still. The beast drops his hand and steps away, there is nothing of a bull in the way that he walks, he could have been fathered by a lion instead for all that he prowls to the door and slams home the bolt. A prison door that locks the world out.

****

The motion that removes the beast’s robe is equally feline, the garment is discarded over the back of the couch without a glance, and it slithers to the floor.

****

John fists his hands in the shackles, pushing against his bent knees. The revulsion he expects to is almost overshadowed by the sensual nature of the beast. He’s smooth, whipcord muscle under skin pale and untouched by the sun, there is nothing feminine or fragile in the way he stalks towards John. There is nothing coy or flirtatious about the way his fingers move to loosen the ties on his loincloth.

****

“Open your mouth.”

****

John lets his jaw slacken, tilts his head up slightly and inhales sharply, letting his breath out slowly to calm himself. He can do this, he can allow himself to be used against the promise of a clean death. He has no reason to think at this point that the gods would grant him another request, but he can hope that he will be dispatched cleanly and put aside any thoughts of what might happen to his flesh after his shade has departed.

****

Sharp fingers curled in his hair bring him back to his centre, the beast’s free hand removing the laces from his loin cloth. The cloth falls away, ignored by the beast, revealing his cock - _only half hard, **oh gods**_ \- pale skin made ruddy with desire, swelling even as John watched. He might die from this, choking and full of the monster’s flesh. John tries and fails to think of the beast as only a man, to forget himself and the bargain and lose himself in memories of different times, giving and receiving pleasure for pleasure’s sake.

****

Laughter, thick and dark as the beast uses his free hand to guide himself between John’s lips, the hand in his hair pulling his head back to expose his neck. “I inherited all of my father’s horns.”  The laughter turns to a rough sigh of pleasure as John closes his mouth as best he can around the curved tip. The fingers in his hair relax slightly and then tighten, digging into his scalp and pulling him closer. John closes his eyes again as his mouth fills, his body making the natural protests against intrusion when the beast touches against the back of his throat. He swallows, attempting to school his breathing to the rhythm of the beast’s thrusts.

****

He tries to control a flinch as he feels his teeth scrape over skin, certain the beast with lash out in anger. He receives only another deep quick thrust instead, and he opens his eyes. The beast, John cannot acknowledge his human nature, is using him roughly, sharp hard thrusts into John’s mouth. John groans as he realizes that he is nowhere near to taking the whole of the massive cock into his mouth.

****

There is a cruel twist to the corner of the monster’s lips, but his eyes are hooded in pleasure. John’s groan elicited a sharp hitch in the rhythm of his thrusts. John’s jaw is aching and his eyes are watering constantly from the pressure against the back of his throat, but he cannot fail in this task. He swallows against his gag reflex and screws his eyes tightly shut.

****

“Not enough.” The monster huffs, affronted, and John is in motion. The whipcord muscles in the monster’s arms dragging him from his knees and propelling him towards the couch before he can even open his eyes. His tunic is ripped from him - the pin at his shoulder catching and dragging a deep gouge into his skin before the fabric gives way and leaves him naked in the first full light of day.

****

He thinks of protesting, allows himself for a moment to believe that he could call an end to this. _You know, I think I’d rather you murdered me by inches, since I believe you might do that anyway._ Before he is pressed face first into the couch, one of his knees is cushioned by the monster’s robe but the other smacks hard onto the floor. Something thick, neither cold nor warm and smooth slides over his entrance. John shudders and tries to relax, surprised at the small consideration.

****

It begins slowly, a hard hand against the base of his neck and one on his hip. He could move, he could break the monster’s hold, he might even be able to break the pin holding the shackles. But he remains hopelessly lost in the tunnels, and the monster would just hunt him down at take pleasure in ending John slowly. Instead he concentrates on allowing the slow intrusion. The monster must enjoy drawing this out, in taking John slowly apart.

****

He pushed in slowly, sliding deeper with each thrust before withdrawing until just the head of his cock is inside John. John stifles a whimper in the thick fabric of the couch as the beast drags his cock over John’s prostate. He’s not doing it with any regularity, changing angles and depths so often that he cannot be trying to give John pleasure. He hardens nevertheless, and refrains from rutting against the thick soft fabric of the couch only by sheer force of will.

****

All other details are lost to the importance of breathing deeply and holding still, he only notes that the beast has filled him completely when his hips still, pressed tight against John’s arse. The fingers around his neck curl, dragging downwards, John has suffered worse wounds than this and he grits his teeth against the pain.  “Your other lover was a ship’s captain. The one that brought you here. Will he mourn for you when you fail to return?”

****

John turned his head, sobbing in air. “Why do you care?”

****

“Call it possessiveness... Someone has had you before me. I want to know if he will keen for you and forswear all others because I have taken you from him.”

****

“No... perhaps... Lestrade knew that there was a chance I would not return. No... we’d never met before I boarded his ship. He will not mourn for me.” John cursed himself for revealing anything to the beast. “The bargain was for your pleasure and my death, ask me nothing further... Please.”

“Very well.” The beast shifts John, pushing him down and pulling against his neck to thrust into him in sharp quick motions. John groans as the new angle forces his cock to slide over the couch providing delicious, and unwanted, friction that adds to the sensations coursing through his body and tips him closer to orgasm.

****

John bites his lip to stifle the groans that rise unbidden from his throat, digging his face deeper into the couch. He cannot stopper his ears, and the slap of flesh against flesh and the rumble of the beast’s moans invade his head and fills him up with sound that borders on a sensation of its own.

****

The beast collapses down onto him, sharp teeth digging into the muscle of his shoulder to make John cry out. They shift, John following where the beast pulls him until he is seated on the beast’s lap. He groans and squirms, trying to pull free of the beast and relieve some of the pressure he can barely stand on his insides.

****

“Come for me, my brave little soldier. You have endured so much, just a little more and I will let you rest.” The flick of the beast’s tongue against John’s ear is electric and the sound of his voice sends tendrils of pleasure and pain through John’s nerves.

****

“Why are you doing this?” John’s voice breaks over the words, and he tries to lift himself off with only his knees. But the monster’s fingers dig into his hips and hold him still. “Why do you want that from me?”

****

The hand that wraps around his cock is oily-smooth. “I am doing it because I can, you are no innocent and it never even occurred to you to seek my mercy.” There is a trace of regret in the monster’s voice, and the muscles in John’s neck give way under the sensation of clever sharp fingers twisting around the head of his cock. He drops his head against his chest and takes a deep breath in through his nose to stopper his moan.

****

The beast quickens his pace over John’s cock, accompanying it with short staccato thrusts, barely more than twitches of his own cock deep into John’s arse. His groan fills John’s ears and rumbles along his spine where their skin is pressed together. John bites his lip, determined to remain silent and keep as much of himself as he can, despite the waves of pleasure that the beast’s fingers draw from him. His fingers dig welts into his palms, and he wishes again for the strength to bend the bar.

****

“You would deny yourself this last pleasure, before your death, rather than give in to me?” John cannot see his face, but there is a note of revelation in the monster’s words.

****

John chokes on a sob. “I do not want to die.” His body curls, as much as the hands on him will allow, balling in on himself, his body trying to defend itself against attack. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

****

“Shush,” The word is spoken against John’s skin and stands every hair on his body on end, “you will see the sky again... give me this and you will return to Athens a free man and a hero.”

****

“Do you swear it?”

****

“I swear, you will live.”

****

“Please.” John can’t bear to ask for more, the angle of his wrists in the shackles means that he can’t grasp himself, and the beast has stilled as they talked.

****

The beast wraps his arm around John’s chest, pulls him close and supports him as he shifts to give himself more leverage. John gasps and releases a shattered moan as the beast begins to move inside him again. His body tightening, he thrusts back against the beast. His hips stutter forward into the beast’s fist, sliding over oiled skin. He is rewarded with a groan and the hardening of the cock inside him.

****

For a moment they are both balanced on the edge, panting hard and sweating tense. Then the monster twists his wrist around the head of John’s cock and John is lost. Nerves afire and heart racing he groans, calling out wordless as his seed spills over the beast’s robe and the hard stone floor. As the last of his spasms fade the beast stiffens and pulls John tight against him, the pulses of his orgasm tip John back into pleasure, oversensitized and pushing the borders of pain.

****

The beast rests, holding John tight against him, his head pressed between John’s shoulders. Until John feels the softening cock sliding from his body. He holds his tongue, not wanting to say anything that might anger the Minotaur and cause him to retract his mercy.

****

“Can you stand?’ The question is almost meaningless, John’s legs are no longer in his control.

****

“I don’t... I think so.” He tries to push his hands down on the couch, gain leverage to lift himself. In the end the beast braces himself against John’s hips and pushes up, they both gasp as sensitive flesh drags against flesh until John is empty and crouched against the edge of the couch. He collapses, rolling so he is on his back. He winces and shifts to relieve the pressure on his ass.

****

The beast wipes his hand and cock on his soiled robe, tossing it over John’s body when he is finished. John cleans himself as best he can with the filthy robe, hindered by the shackles and the stiffness in his abused muscles.

****

When he looks again the beast is tying the laces on his loincloth and moving to unbar the door. John clutches the robe to him as the door opens to reveal the widow.

****

“What kind of time is this? The sun is full up and the King’s men are rattling the gate with their stones.” She drops a sack at the beast’s feet and takes in the state of John on the couch. “Sherlock!” She gathers up John’s tunic, tuts over the torn shoulder. “Are you able to walk? Only the gate will be blocked soon, and it all rests on you going out the way you came in.”

****

“I’m sorry, what rests on me going out?”

****

The beast toes delicately at the sack on the floor, “Hurry and dress if you must, before this drains too much.” He’s lazy and satiated, stretches with a pop of joints and groan that sends shivers through John.

****

“You need to deliver my head to my dear brother. He’ll forgive the delay, given the circumstances. It will be slightly harder to explain if you appear after the gate has been sealed.”

****

“Wait... is that?”

****

“The head of a yearling bull? Yes, slain with your sword, if not your hand. You might want to bloody yourself up a bit... make it look more authentic.” The beast’s eyes are bright and wicked. “My brother delights in telling everyone how hideous I am. He won’t be able to naysay you when you arrive with my head in a sack. I do believe the people will rejoice in the streets and laud you as a hero.”

****

“And what, you stay down here?”

****

“No Mycroft might come looking for me himself.” The beast shudders. “I sail with the tide. I hear Gaul is lovely this time of year.” His eyes soften. “I am hoping to find Daedelus. If he still lives.”

****

The widow hefts the sack and holds it out to John. Thick red blood drips onto the stones. John gathers and knots his tunic as best as he can before he accepts it. “This is your mercy?”

****

“This is my mercy.” There is a dangerous light in his eyes, “The widow will see you to the gate.”

****

She is already at the door, lantern in hand and impatient look on her face. John shifts the burden, swinging the bundle over his back. The cool trickle of gore is deeply unpleasant on his skin. At the door he looks back, but the beast has turned away to watch the sun progress over the water.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you are curious... this is what i envisioned minotaur!sherlock to look like http://ymymy.deviantart.com/art/I-m-spinning-out-of-control-380877444 obviously not drawn by me...


End file.
